Deja Vu
by madame.alexandra
Summary: Gibbs suspects two things in Paris: that she's leaving him, and that there's something that might make her stay, if she'll let him convince her it's worth it. And in the end, it is. Alternative Paris ending. Jibbs. No angst!
1. Paris

_a/n: inspired by the weird urge I had to write a fic with a baby, a little Mishpokhe nostalgia, and a little nudge from my friend, McKenize. Note: this is absolutely **NOT** related to Mishpokhe in **ANY WAY**. _

_it's a two-parter, with (once again) a little different take on the many ways we can explore 'paris possibilities' in fanfiction._

* * *

Paris, 1999

* * *

He had thought something might be wrong for a couple of weeks, but the feeling in his gut intensified these past few days. As their mission in Europe drew to a close, she seemed on edge—tense, sick, apprehensive—and he was wary of bringing it up. He kept waiting—silently, patiently—for her to tell him about the promotion she had been offered, and slowly he realized she wasn't aware he knew about it, and she wasn't going to discuss it with him—which left him in the dark, wondering if he was about to lose her.

He waited until the last possible moment, and then he had an inkling of what was plaguing her—his intuition was a little more finely tuned than she thought it was, because he'd been there before—and one night, in the middle of the night, he lay awake on his back listening to her feign sleep and wrestled with what to say.

He finally—rolled over, and reached for her, shaking her shoulder gently. He went along with her pretending to sleep and whispered her name, acting as if he had to wake her up. His hand was light and soothing on her arm, and she opened her eyes bluntly, blinking a little in the dark.

He recognized the anxiety in her eyes; it had been there all week—and he confronted it.

"Jen," he murmured quietly, shifting closer to her. He propped himself up on one arm, playing with her hair slightly with his other hand.

She raised her eyebrows slowly, waiting expectantly.

He got straight to the point.

"Are you pregnant?" he asked abruptly.

Her eyebrows fell, and she closed her eyes heavily. She became incredibly still under his hand, and then she took a shallow breath and moved her head slightly, drawing her bottom lip into her mouth tensely.

"Yeah," she said hoarsely, her tone defeated. "I think so."

He moved his thumb in circles on her arm, applying comforting pressure to her. He shifted towards her again and cleared his throat, his jaw tightening apprehensively. She took a deep breath and it caught against her lips. He lunged forward confidently and pushed her hair back, lowering his head to kiss her lips.

"I," she began, mumbling into his kiss. "I—" she pushed at his chest slightly, gasping. "How-?"

He shrugged.

"Had a feeling," he muttered vaguely—the memory of her obsessively-compulsively checking her date book for the past few days stuck out most importantly in his mind.

She pushed him away and sat up. She reached over and turned on a light, shoving her knotted hair back out of her face and leaning heavily against the headboard of the hotel bed. Her knuckles clenched tightly, and turned white, and she hugged onto her knees. He reached out and touched her hand, running a thumb over those white knuckles.

"You were restless," he told her gruffly. "Knew it had to be more'n you takin' off on me."

She looked at him sharply.

"You knew?" she asked warily, her voice hoarse.

He looked at her a moment, and then shrugged.

"'M the senior agent, Jen," he said hollowly. "You think they don't tell me what your potential orders are?"

Her cheeks flushed. She bit her lip, and her eyes sparkled suddenly—not with amusement or happiness, but with tears, and he enveloped her whole hand in his firmly.

"You took the promotion," he guessed curtly.

"Yes," she said, choking on the world.

Her eyes closed tightly.

"You didn't know," he added, still piecing together her thoughts. "That you were—"

"No, I didn't," she interrupted sharply. "I'm not even sure I just," she trailed off. Her eyes fluttered again. "No, I am. I—I can sense it."

He nodded. He stared silently at her hands for a while, still holding hers in his. His chest felt tight—they were due to leave Europe tomorrow; he should have approached her the minute he suspected—he should have shown some sort of support.

"You better postpone that flight, Jen," he advised.

"Why?" she demanded, her tone panicked.

He sat up slowly, shifting so he was sitting next to her. He turned his head and leaned forward, studying her face intently. He didn't say the first accusatory, angry thing that came to mind; instead he bit it back, and tried to look at her supportively—he may not be at all ready for something like this, but he—this last chance to keep her from going, it made him realize he wanted Jenny, and he wanted her to know that.

"I thought we might need to talk," he said gruffly, struggling to get the words out.

She turned to him sharply.

"You want me to stay?" she asked harshly.

"Asked you to move in with me," he reminded a little tersely—and it had been after that conversation that she'd started shutting herself down around him.

Her jaw muscle tightened painfully.

"This promotion looks more stable than you, at the moment," she said flatly.

He took it hard, but he tried to blink it off.

"Give me a day," he asked, silently begging her to delay that flight, to let him convince her.

Her face fell and she parted her lips.

"I don't know if I can. I'm scared," she said rapidly, the words in the confession slamming together and stumbling over each other.

Her voice cracked, and she closed her eyes tightly, leaning forward.

"It's okay, Jenny," he muttered, mimicking her movement and turning his head to look at her.

She shook her head.

"No," she said aggressively. "No, I—I—I didn't ever want kids, and I expected to know exactly what I'd do if this happened, but when I suspected—I can't cope with how conflicted I—" she broke off, mumbling to herself almost.

He was silent, and she shook her head back and forth, rubbing her jaw roughly.

"I never thought the _man_ would matter," she said hoarsely, looking over at him. She was trying to tell him—it did. It didn't matter that she hadn't ever wanted children, and she still wasn't sure she wanted them, but she had fallen in love with him, and _maybe_ she wanted _his_ children.

He lifted his arm and slipped it behind her, hugging her into his side. He tilted his head back against the headboard, blinking in the dim lamplight, and turned his lips against her ear.

"What do you want?" he asked huskily.

She turned into him and buried her face in his chest, her hand shaking as she grasped onto his shirt.

"I haven't decided yet."

* * *

Paris, 1999

* * *

_famous last words, eh, Jen? ;)  
-Alexandra  
story #166_


	2. Washington

_a/n: and, voila: part 2. i drew some parallels, with the airport situations and the references to Kelly Gibbs, so. hence the title. hey, it's not angsty, actually! _

* * *

Washington, DC, 2000

* * *

It had been a year.

It seemed like longer—it seemed like _decades_ had passed since he had last seen her in the flesh; it seemed like a millennia that they had been struggling through the messy, unconventional mire of a life their choice had thrust upon them—but it had only been a year.

A solid, well-fought year, give or take a few agonizing weeks when transfers had been delayed and flights out of Europe grounded due to various inconveniences—but it seemed fitting that the first place he should see her after such a year would be the airport.

It was, after all, the last place he had seen her in Paris.

He wished bitterly that it hadn't had to be like this, but it was the only way she'd felt comfortable—she had wanted him to prove he could navigate the emotional distress in his past, and she had wanted to be secure in her own determination to make their relationship work, so she had kept her promotion, and moved to Italy, and he had gone back to Washington to head up the NCIS major crimes response team—and there had been no time for visits, no vacations—just phone calls, and late nights up worrying, and a hell of a fight to get to this moment.

Gibbs rubbed his jaw tensely—he was going to take his skin off if he wasn't careful—and paced the floor, watching hawkishly for any sign of her, any sign of her bags on the conveyor belt.

It wasn't that he hadn't seen her—there were video chats—and it wasn't as if he hadn't seen him—he had pictures, and videos—but he wanted to hold him, and Jen, and the anticipation had gotten almost unbearable.

"Jethro," Ducky said good-naturedly, taking ahold of his friend's shoulder. He laughed, his eyes twinkling. "You'll pace a hole in the floor and fall to the center of the earth."

Gibbs shook him off roughly. He managed a tense sort of smile, eyes scanning the crowds again.

"You don't get it, Duck," he growled vaguely.

Ducky sighed.

"No, I suppose I don't," he agreed, turning around—and then he spotted something Gibbs clearly had not. He smiled to himself and stepped back, inclining is head. "I think I'll go see about a cup of tea," he said, quickly searching for a way out.

He was overjoyed that Gibbs and Jennifer had sought to include him in their reunion—he was, because of his involvement in Paris, perhaps a sort of family to them—but he thought it would be best if they were alone for this part.

He disappeared quietly, making sure she didn't see him as she approached.

Gibbs' eyes were back on the conveyer belt, looking for the bags she had described to him, when he took a deep breath and realized was overwhelmed with a very familiar scent—perfume; perfume he remembered from Paris. He was paralyzed for a second—he couldn't even turn around—and then something small nudged his shoulder and he spun on his heel, his teeth clenched tightly. It took him a moment to focus—he was still dizzy from the scent—and then his eyes fell on _her; _and she looked better than he ever imagined, and she was holding up a tiny hand—and that's what had nudged him.

His eyes ran over her—she looked relaxed, happy, so much more at ease than she had in Paris, or even on their video calls—it was coming home that did it to her; it was knowing that he was going to be there now, and if the spot on his team didn't work out, she'd be as close as the next office in the bullpen, working some other team.

Her hair was pulled back, and she was missing one small, gold hoop earring.

"Jen," he managed, almost in awe.

He stepped closer, crowding her, absolutely claiming her personal space, and her arms pressed against his chest, clutching between them the one thing that had made all of this worth it—

"Hello, Jethro," she said softly. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to the baby's head, moving his hand a little and placing it gently on Gibbs' chest. "Hi, Daddy," she added, smiling a little.

He swallowed hard, fighting with the lump in his throat. He reached out slowly, his glare softening indescribably as he caught his son's eyes.

"Hey, buddy," he greeted, waiting apprehensively for Jenny to place him—in his arms.

She did, and it was the most distinctive moment of healing he'd experienced since he had lost his Kelly so many years ago—this little boy, another child whose birth he'd missed, looked at him with wide, calm blue eyes, his hands braced against Gibbs' chest in slight wariness.

He was five months old, and he had Jenny's auburn hair scattered over his head, and his nose was a mirror image of Jenny's, and everything about him lived up to Gibbs' expectations, right down to the tiny tennis shoes on his feet.

Gibbs held him tightly, lowering his forehead to the baby's and closing his eyes for a moment. He stood still, forgetting all of the unbelievably difficult obstacles they'd faced to get here—and when he opened his eyes; it was because his son was pulling on his ears with interest, mumbling to himself.

Jenny laughed quietly, and touched er own ear.

"He got one of my earrings," she said, her voice catching. She stepped forward and reached out, placing her hands on Gibbs' arms and reveling in the sight of him for a moment—she had so been waiting for the moment she could see him hold the baby.

Gibbs laughed hoarsely, not trusting himself to talk just yet. He looked down, his eyes roaming over his son, memorizing dimples and the confused look on his little face—enshrining the first time he'd really met him.

"He sits up now," Jenny said earnestly. "He's precocious. He didn't cry, the entire flight," she trailed off, her lips trembling.

Gibbs just nodded, his eyes still on the baby. He tightened his jaw for a moment, and then leaned forward and kissed her confidently, wrapping one arm around her.

"You did good, Jen," he said hoarsely, pressing temple against hers. "I like 'im," he said-understatement of the century.

"He looks like you," she said shakily. "I missed you so much, Jethro."

Gibbs shook his head, forehead still pressed against hers.

"Nah, looks like you," he retorted gruffly, turning his head slightly and looking at him.

Jenny laughed, leaning against him heavily. She reached out and wrapped her hand around the baby's foot, holding gently but firmly at the same time.

He grinned smugly, his lips brushing against her cheek.

"Aren't you glad you delayed that flight, back in Paris?" he asked hoarsely.

She laughed breathlessly and pulled back, looking up at him wryly. She leaned forward and kissed the baby boy, her eyes looking up at Gibbs softly and mischievously next to their son's.

"I haven't decided yet."

* * *

Washington, DC, 2000

* * *

_i've left it deliberately vague so you can kind of fill in your own blanks to your hearts' desires, including baby boy Gibbs' name.  
(and no, i'm not going back to this universe)  
-alexandra_

_[note: the premiere just aired here, and i enjoyed it; i'm really, really looking forward to next week. happy viewing!]_


End file.
